by K T Munson
“Don’t worry about the glass.” Destiny spoke softly, but Nanette could make out every word.
“What glass?” Nanette asked in my middle of another step backward.
Her elbow caught the top of the pot and it shattered on the ground before she could catch it. “Oops,” she said instinctively.
“I said not to worry about it,” Destiny said, rising, “It has been a long time since we have had a planet-dweller here.”
“Have you been to my world?” Nanette asked, hopeful, as she stepped away from the shattered glass.
“All the time,” Destiny responded, taking her arm. “Whenever something important happens, I am there.”
“Amazing,” she responded as she was led to the back of the cottage. The cottage’s interior was far too vast for what she had seen, and it still overwhelmed her. She felt caught between shock and awe. The Divine Court had so many secrets within its walls. No wonder they kept nearly everything from the planet dwellers.
They stepped into a circular room in the back. A single shaft of light came in. It took a moment for Nanette to realize it reminded her of moonlight. A large fountain ran at the other end, and she could see the same glittering reeds, but here they danced like excited fish. Serenity shifted around her and pulled the length of her robes back to reach into the water.
“Every golden thread of fate dances in here, brushing against the other ones on their journey.” Destiny informed her as Melody came to stand on Nanette’s other side.
“They come from the Lake of Eternity in the Moonvale,” Melody said as Serenity drew out a single thread. “A good walk from The Divine Court.”
“Ah,” Destiny said, leaning forward and pointing. “There is yours.”
“Mine?” Nanette breathed in, her lungs suddenly feeling tight.
“How else are we supposed to know your fate?” Melody asked, and in unison they took hold of the thread.
Past and future took each end of the thread, with Serenity in the middle. Nanette realized suddenly that she did not want to know her fate. Knowing exactly where she was going would ruin the journey. She didn’t want to know if she would live a long time or if she eventually would have children. She didn’t want to know if Jason would be the only man she would know, if Yuna and Tidus would always be happy and have beautiful babies, and if she would fade into memory.
“Stop,” she whispered, and they turned to her. She said more forcefully, “Don’t!”
“Don’t worry,” Destiny smiled, her face so full of hope. “Your future is like a labyrinth. Every choice you make leads you down another path. Only your choices can make your future. We can only determine the possibilities ourselves.”
Their heads went back and their mouths moved as the golden string began to glow. She saw an eye form on Destiny’s left hand and Melody’s right and nearly screamed. Instead, she clapped a hand over her mouth as they raised their arms. She squeezed her eyes closed, not wanting to see what came next. She could hear them muttering. Nanette did not want to know her fate.
“Daughter of the planets,” Destiny said, her sweet voice bringing Nanette’s eyes open, “you shall live on this day and be returned to Oran. Someone is here for you.”
Nanette’s eyes popped open. “My father?”
“No,” Melody replied. “Are you not curious, mortal?”
“No,” she said, wanting badly to leave. “I don’t want to know any of my possible futures. I’d rather find them out as I live them.”
“Wise.” To Nanette’s surprise, Destiny’s voice was full of admiration. “I give you warning though: One wrong choice and you shall see disaster, but one right choice and you shall have eternal happiness. Remember that your choices make your fate. Remind her as well.”
Nanette glanced among the three fates. “Who?”
“She meets the King,” Melody said with a smile. “The living dead.”
Chapter 42: Morhaven
Elisabeth was no warrior, and the likes of Arawn terrified her, but she kept her face carefully neutral. They passed though the outer courtyards, where she carefully avoided the flowers. When she returned home, she fully intended to cut a few roses in Ashlad and put them in a vase to remind her; perhaps she wanted to a little out of spite as well.
The great doors opened, and she realized two guards were parting them. Their strange triangular helmets hid their faces, but they stood taller than her. On their backs, long blades with ornate designs winked at her amid their black armor; they reminded her of raven heads. She wanted to frown as she entered the Divine Court, but the rows of blossoming trees raining petals made her glance around in awe.
They escorted her through the first set, and a single path made of stones led them into the next room with no doorways but large decorated archways. The final room, where rows of people rose in their seats, was ornate. Many were advisors like Zod, who came to Malthael from time to time, though she knew he, specifically, would not be here, as he spent most of his time in Ashlad and used the gate to return when he was needed.
She hesitated, but Arawn did not. He continued down the great walkway that led to an ornate throne in the middle of the room. A man in fine robes stood, his face set as his court settled around him in a horseshoe arrangement of seats around the raised platform. Creatures of every color of a painter’s palette surrounded her. There were creatures as tall as trees, and some as small as bumblebees. She turned her attention back to a single platform at the head of the room. She could not see steps leading up to the dais, but he stood upon it all the same. Leaves rained down from above in a constant pattern, but she saw no trees that could produce such a number. The ceiling was decorated with a single rush of creatures from the Netherworld; she recognized it as the Wild Hunt.
“Daughter of two worlds,” he said. He wore a half crown of branches crafted around his skull and resting on his ears.
She could make out red, white, and black berries decorating it, and pearls dripped from the edge by his face. His tan face was beautiful, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen, and yet it was emotionless. Pale blond hair framed his face and was bound by metal clips on each side. The rest flowed over his muscular shoulders. This was Ethandirill’s elder brother, and yet they looked so dissimilar. The only thing they had in common was their height—both were impressively tall. She wondered if anything lay beyond those cold eyes and unforgiving features. His voice filled the room with ease, and it was as unfeeling as his face.
“King Nauberon,” Elisabeth said with a polite bow. “I come for Nanette.”
“So pointed,” he said, and although his face didn’t change, she felt his emotions. “This is your homecoming, Elsariel.”
Elisabeth froze at the mention of her other name. Just as she had two parts within her, she had two names. Elsariel was the name that had been given to her by the Det Mor Clan, and Elisabeth the name her mother had given her. Malthael called her Elsa, a shortening of her demon half, to show her that he accepted every part of her and to remind her of what she was. It was important, he said, so that she might never falter or forget, for it could be fatal to another if she did.
“This is not my home,” Elisabeth responded. Some of the court murmured at her affront, but the king did not flinch or move a muscle. “And my name is Elisabeth.”
“Perhaps in Ashlad, but here you are Elsariel,” the king responded, his face not matching the force of his words. “Do you reject my welcome?”
“Do you reject my request?” Elisabeth countered, raising her head in defiance.
Arawn began to laugh, and she glanced at him in surprise. “She is as her father was. All cheek and wit. I have missed Darienith all these years, and wait for his return,” the hunter said.
“Return?” Elisabeth said, betraying herself before she could catch her tongue.
“Yes, child,” Arawn responded. “He rests in the Garden of Defilers. Until he receives the part of himself that he gave up making you, he is but stone.”
“Arawn, get the p
lanet-dweller,” King Nauberon commanded, not seeming all that surprised or annoyed by Arawn’s interjection.
“As my king commands,” Arawn responded before turning and leaving.
King Nauberon stepped off the platform, and vines rose to the ground to meet his feet. He walked down them until he was standing before her, his face unchanged the entire time. An irrational part of her wanted to hit him just to see if it would break his endless emotionlessness.
“Will you walk with me, Elsariel?” the king asked, but he did not offer his hand.
According to the books Malthael had in their library, it was considered impolite to touch the king. He would rarely invite it except from those who had his complete confidence or had influence over him. It was said that only the queen could touch a king, and the leader of the Det Mor Clan was always one or the other. Ethandirill was only a prince, so it was right to touch his cheek in greeting, but a king was known by everyone and needed no introduction.
“I shall,” Elisabeth responded, and the king swept by with his long robes.
She walked beside him, but a step back, just enough to show deference. No one was to surpass the king in all of Morhaven and the Netherworld. He led wherever he walked with anyone, and only the queen might walk beside him. He glanced back at her, his fine cloak dragging behind him.
“You know your protocol, Elsariel,” he acknowledged, and he seemed pleased.
“Enough,” she responded, finding that her quick pace naturally matched his own. “I’ve read a few books on the subject.”
“Your better half is calling to its true home,” he answered and she nearly laughed at his pompousness.
“I believe it was more a matter of curiosity and a love of reading,” she managed to keep the bite out of her words. “I am only here as a matter of urgency.”
“Ah yes,” King Nauberon responded as he started up a set of stairs. “There are matters to discuss beyond your misplaced planet-dweller.”
“Yes,” Elisabeth agreed as they moved toward a door halfway up the wall. “There is the manner in which she got here.” He seemed unmoved by her words.
A door was opened for them, and they stepped out into an elevated courtyard. Instantly, she froze as she looked across it and realized exactly where he was bringing her. Multiple statues stood in the garden, each draped in thick robes that had turned to stone with them.
Elisabeth took a hesitant step into the garden as she scanned the statues. One of them must be her father, but she wondered why their souls hadn’t returned. The door closed behind her, and she was left alone with King Nauberon. She felt him watch her every movement as she weaved through them, and she was careful to keep her emotions off her face.
Turning, she looked at one. She couldn’t see anything, as they wore thick concealing cloaks, but he had a sword in his hand. She moved amongst them until she found him. At his feet, draped over by his cloak, were two horns. They had to be Malthael’s. When the man who was her blood had turned to stone, they had been cemented with him. The stone from which he was made was black, and there were veins running through it. She realized he was marble, a smooth outer shell to hide the deadliness within.
“All souls like yours were released and should have returned to their rightful owners. Their missing half should have been returned when their offspring died, which would make them whole, and yet,” King Nauberon said, sweeping his arm to indicate them, “they remain as they were.”
“How many were there before this started?” Elisabeth asked as she glanced at the other statuettes.
“There are forty-two souls like yours, and with every death that should have freed them, the barrier between the Netherworld and the planets just grew thinner. Something is keeping these souls, something beyond even my sight. The abomination that travels with you must be killed before he can murder the last of the forty-two.”
“Ki?” Elisabeth asked, and then a realization dawned on her. “He’s been with me, and I don’t think he is behind this.”
“Those that created him are,” the king said, and for the first time, his expression was contemplative. “The shadows on the wall I cannot see.”
“Where are they?” Elisabeth asked.
“Hystera,” he responded, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You are brave to face these shadows alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” Elisabeth replied, her face impassive as she thought of her papa.
He regarded her for a moment before offering her a hand, and she stared at it as though it were covered in spiders. “A gift,” he said as though offering her a drink, but Elisabeth knew it wouldn’t be that benign.
Her eyes met his, and she wondered what he was thinking behind that icy stare. She heard him say something under his breath in a language she didn’t recognize. Elisabeth hesitantly took his hand, and a wave of light exploded off their hands when they touched. The force of King Nauberon’s power faded quickly as her hair settled back around her shoulders. She stood in awe. He held her hand a moment longer before releasing it. She looked down at her hand and saw a strange shimmering symbol.
“Should you ever need assistance, say, ‘By the grace of King Nauberon, I summon thee,’ and Arawn will come to you,” he said. She instantly put her hand as far away from her face as she could.
“You gave me the ability to call him?” she all but snapped, holding her hand away from herself. Her response was more impulsive than normal. Elisabeth curled her lips between her teeth.
“You seem upset,” he said, his eyebrows rising for the barest of moments. “It is only once, and then it will be done. Do you reject this gift?”
“No. What do I owe you for such a generous gift?” she said, looking at her hand with mild distrust.
“Only what you would do already,” King Nauberon said, walking back toward the doors. “Destroy these shadows, and prevent whatever they are planning with the souls of the forty-two.”
“That is it?” Elisabeth clarified.
“It involves more peril then you think,” the king said as the doors opened. “Here is your girl returned to you. I shall see you again, Elsariel.”
Elisabeth’s head came up as a petite young woman stood just beyond the door. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the King, and she moved back carefully when he swept by. She was short, with jet black hair and eyes that were tipped at the corners more than was normal for Orani citizens. She looked nothing like Ruhan and had the wisdom to bow as the king moved by.
“Nanette,” Elisabeth said, coming forward, ignoring the thing that was her father, “I am here to take you home.”
“My father sent you?” she said hopefully.
“Yes, to return you to Oran,” Elisabeth said and saw her face fall.
“Of course,” she muttered. “To Oran.”
“You have been careful not to eat the food?” she asked as they stood close to each other.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head vigorously. “I remember the stories. My savior brought me food from the planet, but nothing more.”
“You must be hungry, but my packs are back with Ki,” Elisabeth said without sparing more than a momentary glance back at the statue that was her birth father. “Your savior?”
“The man who saved me, a bald man,” she said as they walked down the stairs. She turned toward Elisabeth. “Fanta called him the banished prince and the wordless one.”
“Ah,” Elisabeth responded, glancing around. “Let’s leave first.”
“What do you mean?” Nanette asked as they hurried out of the palace.
When they were safely beyond the courtyards of the Divine Court, Elisabeth whispered, “He is a banished Det Morian prince, brother to the king. His name is Ethandirill.”
“That is a beautiful name,” Nanette responded, and Elisabeth saw her expression soften as they entered the tree line. “I do hope I can thank him.”
“Your acknowledgments aren’t needed,” Ethandirill said from behind the same tree. “It was a pleasure to have company after such so
litude. It is I who am in your debt.”
Nanette came to a halt and looked startled. That quickly faded away as she looked excited and happy to see him. She took a step forward before stopping and pointing at him. “You can talk!” she exclaimed.
Chapter 43: Netherworld
Ki stood at the edge of the Netherworld and paced. His reason was slowly leaving him. Elisabeth should have returned by now; they were taking too long. He looked the sky as it filled with light. The red of the day would last for a few more hours. Worst of all, he could not forget the look in her eyes as he had touched her—the deep disgust.
He could not blame her, nor could he understand why it bothered him. Perhaps he felt a kinship with her because they were alike. Like him, she was different and had been both that way. The elders had told him he’d been chosen because when everyone else died, he had survived. His mother had given birth to him right before she had been killed, and no man, no matter how determined, would kill an infant. Soul Collectors came for baby killers, after all, and carted them down into the Nether. So most children had been left for dead. Something else would—and did—eat them anyway. But not Ki. He had survived because he was the savior.
He heard a crackle behind him. When he turned, Riku walked over to him. Ki took a step back, his hands instantly on his daggers as the demon slinked over. It was not a good sign that Riku would come now when he had neither key to give him. Ki’s plan was to get them when Elisabeth returned to Ashlad.
“Hello,” Riku said, sauntering around him.
Ki turned to keep the demon in front of him. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” he responded, tipping his head. “Yet you haven’t brought them to me.”
“I had them both, but you failed to mention that one was booby trapped,” Ki responded, turning as the demon circled him. “I died.”